My Hour Glass Has Always Been Empty - But Now Is The Ending

I'm 3 days past my record for not sleeping,
And I think this time it'll be the death me;
My ears are constantly ringing,
And my knees have grown weak.

It hurts in a way,
That can't be described by pain.
I really don't know what I'm trying to say.
Sometimes I wish I could just explain.

It hurts in my back and my toes.
There's nowhere the hurt won't go.         (I wish'td go away)
Know what no one else knows -
But that is a tease; I'd rather not steal your glow.

Atleast not so soon...
What time is it anyway?
I can make out the light of the moon...
What day?

It's been more than a month....
It has been, hasn't it?
It's been 48 days 14 hours....
But then again; why would that matter?

I just feel like no matter what;           (When, where, why, how, or who)
Nobody will be listening - reading.
Here's just another thought;
But what is this if not bleeding?

The substance - these words- spill out on the page.

It is soaked - covered - doused with this bitterness.

But what is this bitterness if not rage?

I'm calm... aren't I?

Writing slow, and steady, and looking over every line?...

No - not rage. It can't be.

This is "just a phase" that haunts and plagues me......

Goodnight, good bye, farewell;

Lock myself away in this room, of my mind, that's just a stairwell,

Of mirrors, and glass, that I can't help
But stare at....

Author's Note

This is the point at which I really do quit. We all have a breaking point, and sometimes we recover. Not me - at least not this time. Will I break or will I recover? Neither no the other. But both will have their way, but I won't be around to tell you or sa----

THE HOUR GLASS FALLS SLOWLY FROM THE DESK TO THE FLOORBOARDS - SHATTERS INTO A MILLION PIECES OF CRYSTALLINE OBLIVION; YET NO SAND SPILLS. THIS IS - THIS WAS THE EMPTY HOUR GLASS